Maximus wanted to make gingerbread cookies tonight. (From a package: add butter, egg, and water. Cookie cutter borrowed from my mother.)
I’ve never made them but it’s not hard to add three ingredients. I put the batter in the fridge for 15 minutes because they looked sticky. It didn’t help! Not even with flour on the counter. IT WAS SO MESSY. I WAS SO ANNOYED. Quinten threw three tantrums between mixing and having my hands covered in sticky batter. (It doesn’t work when your husband puts the coat on the baby before he leaves because the baby asks. Que epic crying when your husband leaves and your baby has a coat on but didn’t go in the car.)
I almost tossed it all away. “Maximus this is not fun.” Somehow I pulled it together and Maximus got to cut out some gingerbread men. Somehow.
I thought about throwing the batter away after we made four. But Maximus wanted to keep going. Quinten stopped crying long enough to start eating the scraps. Whatever.
I gave them both a large, weird looking cookie. Then Maximus reminded me that I didn’t put frosting on. I tried to tell him we didn’t have any. He found some in the “birthday drawer.” So, I decorated them.
And then Maximus told me it was the best gingerbread cookie he ever had. (Maybe the first?) It was dicey, multiple times, but I’m glad I stuck it out. It’s not about things being perfect or going the way I want. It’s about including my kids and doing the things they enjoy. Even if it means sticking both my hands in a sticky, gooey mess of gingerbread batter.<